• Its odd, things are changing, more than they should be. My name is Lawrence, im 12, I live in south California, 1899, this, is my gruesome story.

    The ranch gate flu open as a tall man, wearing a top hat and smoking the fattest, biggest cigar Lawrence have ever seen, he had a dark police suit on and long pointy boots, his thick curly hair sprung out under his hat. He had a semi-automatic pistol in his left holster and a lighted match in his right hand, he lit his cigarette and slowly walked towards the front door. Lawrence was wearing his duster coat and was looking through the murky window in his bedroom. He watched as his father walked out of the front door and confronted the man. His spurs shining in the sun. He had his hair covering his right eye and he wore rancher clothing. “Hello mister, err..” his pa said while looking down. “Mister Wick, is this the Graham residence?” he asked politely. “Yer it is, we have best livestock in the west, and how can I help you Mr. wick?” “We’ve had an eyewitness saying that Jack Graham robbed a bank in the small town of, Flint.” As he said this, he pulled his pistol and aimed it at his head. Jack put his hands up, “I didn’t do a thing Mr. Wick I..” Lawrence was already running to the front door, he made it to the kitchen, but he knew he was about to put up a fight, He reached the front door when the worst sound happened, click, click, it went silent, bang.




    3nodding